


Vulnerable

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adlolly AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU pre-series, where Moriarty needs an associate to get close to Molly Hooper and keep an eye on Sherlock. Irene Adler seems like the woman for the job. Complications arise when Irene finds that Molly isn't the cat-owning middle-aged child-woman she thought she might have been. WARNINGS: femslash will be in later chapters. This will attempt to adhere to canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Costumes, Irene thought, were always interesting. 

From the first fairy wings she had ever played in, to the lace dress she had carefully selected this morning. Well, it was a wonder she hadn’t gone into theatre. 

Especially with all the careful acting she was practising now, a subtle arch of a brow, a quirk at the corner of her lip.

_Give nothing away._

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun. 

“So, James. How can I be of service to you?” The first words spoken in the room permeated in the silence, carrying the crisp, regal tone that Irene was almost renowned for with her clients. She made herself seem in control, completely above the situation. No easy feat considering she was currently barred from exiting the room by two armed guards and countless others hidden, as well as Moriarty’s sniper. 

James Moriarty himself was perched languidly in a chair, alert yet clearly comfortable. His suit was designer, the perfectly ironed collar and tailored shirt fitting to his form like a second skin. A table stretched between them, dark mahogany and clearly expensive, offset with a rich red tablecloth and two cups of untouched tea. 

Irene wasn’t usually this charmed by men, if James Moriarty could be given such a bland title at all. She had been conversing with him through random people, the internet and via text for the past month before he eventually consented to meeting her in person. 

“I need you to get close to someone for me,” he replied. His voice was that singing Irish lilt that gave no indication to what lay beneath, no hint of the menace that had scorched his name across the criminal world. The name everyone knew but no one spoke… 

“The Virgin?” Irene asked, her hopeful thinking. A clever nickname for a man she had never met in person, something that she and Moriarty had shared. She was pulling the humour card, the ‘I know you’re still a human’ card. 

James’ lips quirked in a quick smile, like a snake flicking its tongue across dry lips. 

“No, dear. Something a little more in your forte.” A file was sensuously slid across the expanse of table until it rested within reaching distance of her hands. She remained still, contemplating his unreadable features for a few beats. 

Picking up that file was sentencing her to the menial task that lay within, but avoiding it was disrespecting the man who would kill with an imperceptible nod or an uncaring wave of his hand. 

In the exact movement she leaned forward to take it, he began speaking again. 

“Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital is where Sherlock often goes to conduct his research, and I’d like someone there to keep an eye on things. I had a morgue worker but after a few discrepancies I found he was no longer of any use to me.” Jim said, his tone casual but his eyes boring into the place where Irene’s hands were connected to the file. She shifted her fingers and opened it to peer inside. 

Sitting there, on top of a stack of papers, was a photo of a woman. Her lips were slightly thin and her eyes looked dull in the low quality image, she had thick, light brown hair and the kind of smile that suggested the woman owned at least two cats. 

“New morgue assistant Molly Hooper is starting in two days time, she’ll be in charge of the area Sherlock usually inhabits.” Jim said, leaning forward to sip his tea and giving a brief smile. 

“You’d like me to do what precisely with Miss Hooper?” Irene asked, closing the file and placing it in her lap. 

“I trust you don’t need me to tell you how to do your job, Miss Adler?” Moriarty replied, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, of course not.” Irene said, careful to keep the snap out of her tone. She was not an idiot. She was, however, confused as to how seducing Molly Hooper would help Jim in the slightest. 

“Find out what she likes, get close to her. If you do this right, you’ll be cut into one of the biggest deals of this century. If you don’t, you’ll be cut into tiny pieces.” Jim said pleasantly.

The threat was always his departing line, so Irene forced her countenance into an unruffled calmness as she stood and walked to his side of the table. 

“Of course, James.” She replied, leaning forward to brush her red painted lips across his hairline. The kiss was subtle and completely unerotic, followed by a nod from him towards his guards who stepped aside to allow Irene to pass. 

She did so unhurriedly, her high heels clicking across the floor of the room and then out into the hallway. 

Irene shivered when she finally found her way onto the street, feeling the utter relief spread through her at leaving a meeting with James Moriarty still alive and in possession of all ten fingers. Alongside that relief was the thrill of the game, the feeling of entering another round whilst completely unsure of the consequences and outcomes. To seduce Molly Hooper, though, a pleasant looking girl who didn’t seem to fit into any category of her normal clientele well… 

Irene got the strong feeling she at least wouldn’t be bored as she picked up her phone and hit the speed dial for her assistant. 

“Kate, dear, I need you to lay an outfit for me. No, not that kind of outfit. I need something… vulnerable.”


	2. Chapter 2

The clouds amassed on the horizon, a dark and ominous army that marched slowly across the skies and slickened the surfaces of Earth. Rain sheeted down persistently and obnoxiously, which of course meant that Molly had forgotten her umbrella.

She had procured a replacement – a jacket that probably cost more than your average umbrella was held above her head to shield her make-up and hair from the onslaught of water that threatened to make her first day at work go from ‘terrible’ to ‘unbearable’. 

The doors to the hospital whirred open and Molly stepped into the blissfully heated lobby area, exchanging grins with a family who were exiting at the same time. She navigated her way through the labyrinth of corridors until she came to the morgue, stepping inside and looking around her new workplace. 

Her physician was poised peering over a body, frowning slightly. He was older than her by twenty or so years, with distinguished eyebrows and a strong chin. Molly thought he looked like a stern grandfather, a thought that dissipated when his eyes raised to hers and a warm grin spread across his features. 

“You must be Molly,” he said pleasantly. 

“Yes.” Molly smiled back. “I mean, yes sir. I’m Molly Hooper. You must be-”

“Doctor Evan Haley, it’s lovely to meet you.” he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Your resume was very satisfactory indeed; I think you’ll fit in well here at Bart’s.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Molly replied, her cheeks colouring. 

“I’ll show you around quickly and then I’ll get you started on cleaning and sterilizing some of these instruments. I’ve got to say, I’m looking forward to having an extra pair of hands.” 

“I’m looking forward to being your extra pair of hands,” Molly beamed. “I mean…” she paused, considering what she had just said. 

“I understand, my dear. Now come along.” He said hastily. 

_Idiot._ Molly berated herself internally and forced her eyes downwards as she followed the Doctor into the workspace. 

-

At the end of her first day, Molly was ninety percent certain she would smell of disinfectant for the rest of her career. She was seventy percent sure that she would also spend the majority of her time at Saint Barts alone, that she would be overloaded with Dr. Haley’s work, and that she would enjoy every second of it. 

She was grinning as she swung her handbag across her shoulder and made for the door that Dr. Haley had recently exited. She felt she had a fairly successful first day and was ready to go home for dinner and perhaps the new episode of Glee. 

The doors were dramatically flung inwards and a man entered, and Molly thought at that moment he was possibly the most dramatic man she had ever seen. 

He was all contrasts, ink black hair and pale white skin, sharp cheekbones and pale eyes, tall with a long black coat and a shirt pulled impossibly taut across his chest. The look on his face went from blank to disdainful in seconds. 

“Where’s Dr. Haley?” He asked briskly, his accent crisp. 

“He’s… gone home.” Molly replied unsurely, the weight of her car keys heavy in her hands. 

The man’s eyes had narrowed, and she felt suddenly as though she were being scanned. 

“New morgue attendant,” he muttered before straightening slightly. “I require use of the facilities and possibly some help.” 

“I was…” Molly looked longingly at the door, feeling her conscience tugging carefully away somewhere in her chest. The man raised his eyebrows, as if unaware that people were allowed to talk back to him. 

“I don’t even know your name.” She said instead. 

“Sherlock Holmes, I’m a consulting detective.” He replied, making his way into the workspace and flipping on the lights, casting the fluorescent glare onto the linoleum floor. 

Molly couldn’t help but feel he was awfully pretentious, clearly aware of his attractiveness. Her lips moved around the words ‘consulting detective’ a few times. 

Not wanting to be rude on her first day of work, she deposited her car keys back into her handbag and offered him a wide smile. 

“What do you need?” she asked. 

-

Clouds hung heavily in the sky, ripe with water and on the edge of spilling. Irene smirked beneath them, walking down the street in darkly tinted sunglasses and a thickly lined coat that protected her from the worst of the 3 p.m. chill.

She turned towards the apartment building with a casual ease, her coat whipping around the corner with a note of finality until she was completely obscured from the street. 

In the small alcove she produced her lock picking kit, the smooth metal rods fitting in between her fingers as she set to work. In a few moments the door was open to her, and she slunk inside to get her first good look at the apartment of Molly Hooper. 

It was tenuously neat, with dusted surfaces and stacked shelves. Irene inhaled deeply the smell of washing powder and lingering perfume that Molly must have sprayed before she left – it was light and fragrant, possibly Miss Dior or Clinique Happy. 

“Right, Miss Hooper. Now to the bedroom.” She muttered, navigating her way to the room past the kitchen. 

Molly Hooper’s bedroom was functional yet rich with information, from the purple bed sheets (universal colour of sexual frustration), to the dolls stacked on the highest shelf (ashamed of childish tendencies), and the shoulder-height mirror that only allowed room to see the face and neck (low self esteem). 

Irene looked around the cupboards for a few moments before making her way to the most telling part of a woman’s bedroom: her knickers drawer. 

She fiddled with the mahogany structure before sliding open the uppermost drawer and frowning at its contents. 

“Folded,” Irene said out loud. “Her knickers are folded.” 

They were varying shades of blue, green, white and black. Functional pants for a functional woman with low self esteem. 

“I do love a challenge.” Irene pondered, replacing the drawer as it was and considering the room around her. After a moment she delved her hand into the pocket of her coat, drawing out her phone and frowning at the number. 

“Kate?” Irene answered

“The Virgin has cornered the Target, not sure when she’ll be heading home.” Kate answered efficiently, her voice crisp. 

“Send the car around, I’ll see you soon darling.” 

-

Inhaling carefully to puff out her cheeks and then blowing it out noisily, Molly discovered she had actually found the most arrogant person on the planet. 

If he wasn’t as gorgeous as he was, Molly was certain Sherlock Holmes would be universally hated. Not that she hated him, after all he was obviously very intelligent and Molly thought he must be nice somewhere down inside. 

“Deep inside,” Molly muttered, rechecking for the third time a silt sample he had dumped on her meticulously clean workbench. 

“Results?” he asked impatiently.

“Same as last time,” she replied dutifully.

“No,” Sherlock muttered. “That wouldn’t make sense. Unless of course he had travelled from… oh.” He paused, his whole body suddenly still. 

“Oh!” he repeated, voice excited. He exploded into movement, picking up his jacket and sliding his arms through the holes, making his way around the bench in a swirl of expensive fabric.

“Bye!” Molly called unsurely, checking her watch. Three hours, she had been set back. Gloomily, she mentally cancelled her own plans of a Glee marathon and looked forward to a quick dinner and then bed instead. 

A shift of colour at the door forced Molly to look up only to find Sherlock standing there, looking slightly awkward. 

“Good bye.” He said quickly, before disappearing around the corner again. 

Molly got the feeling that was the closest she would get to a thank you, and for some reason the tiny notion of affection made her stomach jolt unexpectedly. 

“Well.” She muttered to herself, sliding the plastic gloves off her hands.

-

Carefully wiping the sweat from her riding crop, Irene heard the tinkling ringtone of an oncoming call from the phone in her pocket. 

Giving the leather one final affectionate swipe, she procured the device and held it to her ear. 

“Hello,” she purred. 

“Miss Adler,” Moran’s voice was clipped. 

“How can I help you, Sebastian?” 

“My boss wanted you to know he’d organised the job, you’ll be working in IT at Saint Bart’s starting tomorrow.” His tone was professional yet barely contained – Irene knew how much Moran hated it when Jim got him to do the receptionist work. 

“Thank you, pet.” Irene replied. “Give James my thanks as well.” 

Sebastian made a noncommittal noise before the phone call was ended, and Irene smirked in reply as she replaced the phone back into her pocket and went back to inspecting the leather of her riding crop. 

“Is it all clean, Miss?” Kate asked, tipping her head around the corner of the door. 

“Almost, dear. We mustn’t be impatient.” 

“Or what?” Kate said, her eyes glimmering. 

In response Irene cracked the crop against her knee, the sudden silence that followed a precursor for the wide grin that spread on Kate’s features like honey across porcelain. 

“In that case, Miss Adler, I find myself becoming less patient by the second.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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